


A Question of Mistletoe Placement

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mistletoe, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21642478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale wants his and Crowley's first mistletoe kiss to be memorable, so he calls in Anathema for help. But it's Crowley who makes sure that happens.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 Days of Ineffables [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560190
Comments: 29
Kudos: 143





	A Question of Mistletoe Placement

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm an idiot XD I had this outlined for a reason! And yesterday I posted it as a head canon ... completely forgetting that I wanted to write it for 31 Days of Ineffables. Whoops! So I fleshed it out for the fun of it, but I'm writing another one for this prompt as well, which is 'mistletoe'.

“What do you think, my dear? Over the sofa?” Aziraphale shuffles through his shop to his back room, gauging its suitability for mistletoe placement. “No, no … that might be too forward. How about right at the front door, so I can kiss him first thing?” He hurries back in the direction he came, Anathema’s eyes following as if she’s watching some endlessly amusing tennis match. Aziraphale, arm in the air holding his mistletoe aloft, stops at the door, rolls up onto his toes, and gives the air a test smooch. He hovers there a moment, deep in thought, then lowers himself slowly, shaking his head. “Oh … but then … that might be too sudden. I wouldn’t want him to feel like he’s being ambushed. Ugh!” He returns to his desk, where the witch is sitting, and occupies the wooden chair beside her. “I don’t think I’m doing this right!”

“Mr. Fell! It’s _mistletoe_! I don’t think you can hang it wrong!” She bumps his slumped shoulder playfully with her own. “As long as you end up kissing what’s under it!”

Aziraphale knows he’s being teased, and would usually rise to the occasion with a witty remark, but he’s too nervous to think of one, so he sighs instead. “Are you sure? I’ve never done this before. And considering that the history of mistletoe rests mostly in superstition, you would be the expert in these matters.”

“Then take it from me – I’m _positive_. Why are you such a mess? You and Mr. Crowley have known one another over 6000 years!”

“Because this is our first Christmas together as a …” His eyes dart left and right, checking to see if anyone aside from them is listening “… a _couple_. It’ll be our first holiday kiss. And I …” His cheeks go pink. A grinning Anathema takes his hand and gives it a comforting squeezing. She can’t help thinking this is adorable but _God,_ is it weird! One would think angel and demon were preparing for their first time having sex, not a simple kiss under the mistletoe. It just makes her realize how common kissing is for humans, how it can stop feeling special after a while … and how much they take it for granted. “It may not seem it to you, with the way Crowley dresses and acts and how he drives, but he’s actually quite reserved when it comes to his feelings. Subtle even. I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call one tiny piece of mistletoe overwhelming.”

Aziraphale nods in agreement, but with a knowledge he has that she doesn’t. “I know there’s no such thing as perfect, but I’m hoping this comes as close as possible.”

“As long as you and Mr. Crowley love one another, your first holiday kiss will be perfect no matter where you hang that mistletoe.” She chuckles. “One might even say _heavenly_.”

Aziraphale gives her a soft smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, my dear. And thank you so much for coming by at such short notice. I know I’m being a big silly about all this, but I’m so happy you’re here.”

“So am I. I wouldn’t miss this moment for the world. Two supernatural entities sharing their first Christmas kiss? It’s going to be magical!” Anathema wraps her arms around Aziraphale and hugs him, and the angel hugs her back. “Now, about that mistletoe. I think …”

The doors to the bookshop fly open, striking the inner walls with a resounding _thwack!_ that makes them both jump out of their skins.

“Dear God in Heaven!” Aziraphale yelps, positioning Anathema protectively behind him. “What in the world …?”

“Hello, hello, hello!” a familiar voice crows. Crowley barges in, arriving the way most humans think demons do – in a pillar of smoke. Books fly from their shelves, pages knocking loose and floating through the air (magically reassembling to land safely and soundly on the ground when their jobs are done). When Aziraphale can finally see him clearly, he can’t help thinking he looks … _odd_. Stylish but off. A new suit perhaps? Why not? He miracles up a new one daily. But this one isn’t his signature black. Or, Aziraphale realizes after a few blinks, it is, but it’s covered in something. Something lumpy and green and …

 _It’s mistletoe!_ he concludes with eyes popped. And it’s pinned EVERYWHERE!

Aziraphale, brow pinched so tight it gives Anathema a headache to look at, gives Crowley a once over from snakeskin shoes on up. Atop his head, he’s wearing a Santa Claus hat, a hook affixed to the top holding mistletoe over his face like a fishing lure. But the largest bundle of mistletoe has been attached to his belt buckle, the ball of sprig and berries covering … well … Crowley’s sprig and berries.

He locks eyes with Aziraphale, who has turned a vibrant fire engine red, and winks.

“Ho-ho-ho, party people!” he says, swinging his hips. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Good … Lord …” Aziraphale mutters with the befuddled expression of a boy who has just gotten everything he’s ever wanted at the price of being told there is no Santa Claus.

Anathema, however, stares open-mouthed at the mass of green and white parasite dangling in front of the demon’s crotch and shakes her head. “Subtle, Mr. Crowley. Very subtle.”


End file.
